


Apocalypse Class

by Water-Droplets (Rainwater_Apothecary)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gore, M/M, Multi, X-Men AU - Freeform, age difference but like....they're all over thirty so?, hanzo doesn't kill his brother thanx, more characters will appear undoubtedly, now we see why i have this pseud lmaoooooo, there will be violence and blatant sex in later chapters so mind the warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainwater_Apothecary/pseuds/Water-Droplets
Summary: Human experimentation was pitched to the U.N. as a medical necessity in a time of hyper-mutating bacteria and weakening drugs.Then the war began, and the mutants were put on the front lines as a medical necessity in a time of political 'us' versus 'them'.Jack 'Survivor' Morrison, Gabriel 'Wraith' Reyes, and Hanzo 'Dragonstrike' Shimada are three such mutants.X-Men inspired au.
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Hanzo Shimada/soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Preview

Throughout all of his time with his ...’gift’, Hanzo had known he was dangerous. Now that he’d wound up in a mutation facility in America with a fractured dragon and a broken heart, he was quickly learning how much more dangerous than even people like ...well, him.  


Apocalypse class, they had said.  


A mutant whose powers had the octane to rend space and end wars by turning the world to ash. Humanity’s worst nightmare and best hope for ever getting out of the tightest of spots.  


Before Hanzo Shimada there had only been two Apocalypse class mutants - altered, like him, but using Western technology and ideations.  


Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes weren’t too bad as far as housemates went at least.  


As the dragon-bound man stirred a mug of tea in the kitchen, the morning sun had just begun to warm the windows and color the kitchen in creme orange and vibrant pink. He bobbed the teabag by its string and rolled out his shoulders.  


The back screen door bounced loudly against the frame as the two bickering super soldiers came inside from their morning run.  


“I swear to Jesus Jackie you _gotta_ stop taking those turns so fast. Don’t you get tired, old man?”  


“Maybe you just suck at tirin’ me out, 24.” Jack Morrison, Survivor, threw the joke back at his best friend - and occasional boyfriend, Hanzo figured. Gabriel Reyes, code ‘Wraith’ merely rolled his eyes and lumbered into the kitchen, eyebrows raising at the tasty smells their newest member had coaxed from the kitchen.  


Hanzo put another pot of water in the coffee maker reservoir and turned it to percolate while the old men showered off their run. That was one thing he wouldn’t miss from Hanamura: waking up early. 

Here in America he might be a world-shattering weapon but at least they told him that to his face. 

And he could sleep in.


	2. Issue 1 - Dragonstrike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A monstrous roar tears through Hanamura as another mutant activates his 'Gift'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL I'M SO EXCITED TO FINALLY BE UPLOADING FOR THIS FIC

Shallow puddles splashed against Hanzo’s prosthetics as they bled black oil. His dragons- His dragons had never, ever done THAT before. He felt sick, his vision swam.  


Fujin and Raijin had NEVER done that before. Sure they had exploded before, he had even let them out to play during a fireworks festival near the castle – for PR of course, not because centuries-old dragon spirits felt the urge to play like kittens.

This time they ripped him to shreds and rebuilt him. 

This was worse than anything his family had done to him or to Genji- 

Genji. 

Oh Genji, why hadn’t he been stronger? Not Genji, Hanzo. Why hadn’t the elder brother taken control like he’d been trained to do? Instead, he had been WEAK. Weak and broken and it was only his dragons that snapped him out of it. 

That was unacceptable. He was their master. He was THEIR master. NOT the other way around. 

Yet they had wrenched his arms in their sockets to physically pull him off of his brother and their sister. It was agonizing. It was _humiliating_. Why couldn’t he just do _one_ thing right?? 

Every cell burned and every muscle stretched and screamed as he ran. The spring rain pounded on his raw flesh as he ran, each onslaught turning to steam beneath the dragons’ rage and his own aching tattoos. 

He didn’t look down at his right arm. He couldn’t look down at his left arm. Raijin had made sure of that. 

Hanzo shook his head, his long hair charred short and dripping charcoal down his back. He would have a massive pink scar, he knew this. If he was lucky it would cover his Shimada brand. Not like he had much luck these days. 

He could hope that his guardian spirits would have enough mercy to remove his scar before his family could. He wasn’t counting on it though. 

_“Genji!”_ Hanzo roared, throat raw and coughing up blood. He would light up the sky if he had to. 

They all would. 

This was no longer about him. Them. This was about Genji and their younger sister. 

This was about _family_. 

Hanzo caught sight of a flash of green hair as his brother shot around a whitewashed corner. Static electricity charged the air from Souden’s tail made the air thick and shot goosebumps up and down his arms and chest. They were close. 

Close enough. 

As close as Hanzo and his guardians would let them get. 

_”Ryu ga waga teki wo kurau!”_

The sky over Hanamura, Japan shocked through with ozone-blue in eye-searing electrical pulses. 

His dragons would strike down any man who stood in his path. 

Even if that path was destined to end in his own destruction. 

They would not get Genji again. They would never get the chance. 

Raijin and Fujin reared up over the castle like avenging serpents, their lighter underbellies sparking with lightning. Hanzo clattered to his knees and gripped his left arm. His nerves were arching just as surely as every power line and electronic device in the surrounding prefecture. 

It was his dragons’ wills made manifest. 

It was his – their – Dragonstrike, and it was on Genji’s side that day. 

With shrieks like giant hawks the dragons crashed down over his city. 

\--- 

Six thousand miles away on the contiguous United States of America a super-soldier clicked on his television. 

“Madre de dios…” Gabriel ‘Wraith’ Reyes breathed, brown eyes widening at the image of a roaring blue dragon twenty stories high – at _least_ \- over Japan. Flower blossoms tore across the screen in a frozen blur as his garbage military-grade tv paused on the news feed. 

This one was gonna suck. 

\--- 

Jack Morrison looked up through the rain and the wind and narrowed his eyes. 

Something was changing. 

Something in the field was shifting. 

This one was gonna suck. 

\--- 

The last time Genji Shimada saw his brother alive he was slumping into a mud puddle formed of rain, blood, and mechanical liquids. His hair was stuck at all angles and he _still_ looked the ferocious dragon the elders and their family had groomed him to be. 

Blue sparks of bright light shot along both of his brother’s arms, only his left now bearing the tattoo the brothers were forced to receive and wear with pride. 

_Raijin…_ Genji breathed. He couldn’t _feel_ that anything was different…but if both dragons had moved into one ink-patterned sleeve then… It was little wonder his brother had bit his lip so hard it bled. 

Hanzo Shimada looked his brother in the eye and slumped forward, crashing sculpted cheekbones into unforgiving cobblestones. Genji winced, but the man had been through worse. Far worse. 

What sent a frigid wave of _fear_ through the younger Shimada was that he couldn’t tell if Hanzo had actually _seen_ him or not. 

The older man hadn’t shown any signs of recognition, and now he lay face down in a miasma of blood and arching electrical currents. 

Genji’s chin shot up at the heavy rattling sound of a military helicopter landing in the main square just behind his brother. 

The chill that had been threatening to drown him suddenly _consumed_ him. 

“Hanzo!” He shouted, trying to fight against his instincts to get to his brother. He recognized that helicopter, and it was a long, long way from home. 

_Watchover._

Mutants were a strictly Western concept, in place to explain a concept the East accepted intrinsically. Some people were different, powerful. Immersed in the spirit world while walking the human world. 

Like Hanzo. 

Hanzo Shimada was special, always had been. Genji hated to admit it, but it was just the facts. 

Guardians had walked beside the Shimada family since its inception, centuries and millennia ago. 

The West would have called them mutants. Maternally-passed down mutants. 

Genji had one. It granted him superhuman speed and allowed him to …outwit gravity from time-to-time. 

Hanzo though, Hanzo had _two_. He could control the wind and the rain, turn the weather to his bidding to appease contracts or make a point. He had always _hated_ it. He was proud, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But it was a contradiction. He hated that he was abnormal, that he could bend reality to his will. 

What Genji would have given to have his brother’s gifts. He loved Udon with all his heart, she was the other half of his soul, but damnit sometimes he just wanted to be special. 

Genji should have known that it would be a bad day when it started to rain out of nowhere. Udon had huddled beside him as he zipped up his hoodie and prepared to step out into the downpour. 

_”I don’t like this, young master.”_

He should have listened. 

_Gods_ he should have listened. 

Instead, he had barely survived an assassination attempt by running dishonorably and then having the luck of the dragons to protect his escape. 

Hanzo’s dragons included. 

While Genji had been running for his life, using every tool and Gift he had at his disposal, he heard his brother start to scream. 

But he couldn’t turn back. 

He physically could not stop running. 

The sound broke his heart, shattered it into pieces that stuck into his lungs and formed stitches all up and down his sides. 

Fujin and Raijin had stepped in. 

Hanzo had sacrificed himself to them to save Genji and Udon. 

Twin snakes of raging blue energy rose from his brother’s muscled shoulders before the Gifted man’s eyes turned to white _fire_. 

Ink sloshed to the ground at his feet from where Hanzo’s right-hand dragon had torn from his flesh too fast. He screamed then. 

He kept screaming. 

The chopper forced its oppressive waves of silence over the cracks of lightning and booms of thunder. 

Fujin and Raijin. 

Left and Right. 

Thunder and Lightening. 

Unseeing eyes met the terrified younger Shimada before the storm Gifted let go. 

“Brother-!” Genji shouted, getting his feet under him. He knew that he didn’t stand a chance against the Mutant Military, not if he was going to keep his abilities a secret as per Clan requirements. 

Hanzo had done this. He had shattered the silence that their family had toiled so long to contain. 

_And he had done it for Genji._

Hanzo was willing to be torn from their ancestral home… 

Willing to enrage his own dragon guardians… 

Willing and able to level the city they both held so close to their hearts… 

For him. 

For his baby brother who hadn’t seen how far out of line he had been until he saw how far the clan was willing to go to put him back in place. 

They had been willing to kill him. Had ordered the hit, in fact. 

The clan had ordered their most skilled Gifted to take Genji down, and while he should have been flattered he was just cold. 

His family - _Their_ family had forced and manipulated his older brother into trying to kill him. 

He had no idea who stopped Hanzo, if it was Hanzo himself or one or both of his dragons, but the ability to manifest on such a scale was not done lightly. 

It would have taken an untold amount of their other guardianed family members to work _together_ to get _half_ the height Fujin and Raijin got _each_. 

Genji saw when the camera shuttered at Fujin. He saw when the Watch showed up. 

None of it would have been possible had Hanzo not been in tune with his dragons. 

Dragons could rip enemies limb from limb and scorch fields so completely that generations of their foes could not use the farmland. 

Hanzo had given his dragons himself. 

He had become their fodder, they had become his rage. 

They – all three of them - had defied the elders and protected him. 

He let out a silent prayer that the Watch would take care of his brother as black-clad masked soldiers hit the cobblestones beside Hanzo’s bleeding, deathly still form. 

_”Please, give him a better life than all this.”_

_”Or at least a painless death. He deserves that, at least.”_

_”Please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr for this fic! Come hang out~ https://apocalypse-class.tumblr.com/ :>
> 
> Fujin and Raijin got their names from another fic, I _think_ it's Silver 'N Gold by KittenzCaboodle but I'm not 100% sure. If anybody knows, _please_ let me know!!


	3. Issue 2 - Game Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragonstrike is given access to the Apocalypse Class safehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this was November 2020's NaNoWriMo, so the writing early on is a little meandering while I found my stride.

The ‘ol pigskin was slightly chilled to the touch as Jackson ‘Survivor’ Morrison caught it and cradled it to his chest. Cold didn’t effect him, neither did heat. Slippery fall leaves, however, now those were another story.

He hit a solid chest and warm arms encircled him from behind. He squeaked and bucked forward into a roll that trailed wet leaves all the way up his spine. 

He got away from his opponent though… although with how Gabe was wheezing he must have made some sort of noise that undercut his masculinity. Dew was a pain, okay? 

Sneakers squeaked against the red and orange slate of ground as Jack turned and sent the ball back at a wicked spiral. 

Gabe caught it against his chest with a satisfying ‘Oof’. Jack smirked before having to run backwards to catch the ball now flying at him with the strength of their Enhancements behind it. The Caucasian grinned wickedly. He picked up his knees a bit higher with each step and was soon bolting around the little back yard the two Apocalypse Class mutants had been given. 

They pretended it wasn’t a safehouse. 

Just a safe house. The space was an important distinction for their sanity. 

The football (“¡fútbol americano!” Gabe would argue. Whatever.) made a reverberating thud as it crashed into Gabriel ‘Wraith’ Reyes’ chest. Jack smirked but didn’t slow down. 

It was a small thing, the way Reyes turned at the ankle. 

Or didn’t. 

In a breathless moment of weightlessness, Gabriel Reyes activated his nanites enough to turn his feet to particles. 

Then he bull-rushed his best friend. 

The two men collided at mach-speeds and went down in a pile of nanites and laughter. 

Gabriel hadn’t felt this free since the divorce went through. 

He had loved Sofia, of course he had. He adored their three perfect terrors of babies. 

But Sofia was a lesbian and it wasn’t right to keep her and let their marriage strain any more. Sofia deserved happiness. Their babies deserved happiness. 

And Gabe couldn’t balance it anymore, not with the SEP triggering latent mutations and enhancing them. 

So he had become a ghost who’s time was ticking. 

With every fight he survived (Sorry, Jack) he grew closer and closer to a death he could never achieve. 

That was the Wraith mutation: he was more machine than human some days. 

Other days he was just tired. 

Thankfully, today was a good day. Just him, an old friend, the smell of fall, and an old football. 

The helicopter was new. 

Wait. 

Both supersoldiers looked skyward as their heightened hearing and latent precognition turned them into MASH’s Radar O'Reilly. 

Survivor narrowed his eyes as his irises turned a vibrant scarlet. 

“It’s the Watch.” Watchover. What did _they_ want? 

Gabe narrowed his own eyes. 

“What do they want.” He growled. Jack would have chuckled at their synchronicity if he wasn’t already coiling to strike. 

His thick, corded shoulders hunched and he felt the lactic acid bubble beneath his biceps and flood his thighs. He was ready to go. 

Wraith raised one hand to keep his fellow soldier in check. They were both commanders, they both knew this. Sometimes they just knew it at different times. 

The shadow commander cut off the commander of light, the golden boy stepping down though not quite at ease. 

It was a small eurobus helicopter, usually used for transporting three or four people under the radar. Even then if the tiny chopper was somehow spotted by commercial crafts, the brash Watchover insignia ensured that the friendlies kept their silence. 

Gabe set his jaw as the chopper cut over the woods behind his and Jack’s house. Wraith let out a low whistle as he caught sight of the stranger in the passenger seats. 

“Is that…?” Jack shook his head. He had seen the news, same as his friend. 

“Yeah. The newbie.” Gabe replied. 

There had been ripples sent out after the Hanamura Incident that had yanked both Apocalypse Class mutants back into a board room where they’d settled along the company table . 

Read as: Jack sat on the edge of the conference table while Gabe leaned back in a chair and put his boots up beside Jack’s blue-togged hip. 

Jack tried for polite interest while Gabriel settled on grumpy guard dog. It was a combination that had always worked and always would - it put others on edge and reminded briefings that their time was valuable so no one should use up too much of it. 

The slide machine clunked in its ceiling bower and the show started. 

Even wet-ops strike commander Gabriel hard-ass Reyes leaned forward and paid attention to this one. 

Dragons. Real, honest to shit dragons, the Eastern ones. 

They snaked around ancient buildings and flooded cobbled streets. Chaos, screams, and terror were silently documented by the film reels, but were no less impactful for it. 

Then the shaky, grainy film moved towards the epicenter of the carnage. 

One man. 

One lone man kneeling on the rain-dyed cobblestones, hair in his face and blood on his clothes. Blood everywhere. So much dark liquid that it couldn’t have been his entirely. 

Both soldiers had kept their winces inside and leaned forward to study the clip. 

The wall of muscle and rain-blurred power crumpled again and again as the tape paused and repeated, trying to glean as much information as possible through its digital shortcomings. 

“How was this filmed? A tin can?” The Wraith growled. Survivor shook his head in a curt sideways motion. 

“When was this filmed?” Strike Commander Morrison crossed his arms and leaned forward to pick out as much detail as he could. 

“Two days ago, 18:25 local time.” Soldier:76 quickly crunched the numbers in his head. Two days ago in Japan would be… His eyes widened. 

“Why the hell are we just hearing about this?” Morrison pushed off the table and raised a hand to activate a communicator that was no longer there. 

The Suit wilted away from the ex-commander’s efficient wrath. 

“It took time to subdue the mutant. We suspected our Japanese and Philippines branches were hiding something, but we had no idea it was this…well, this big.” 

“ _Save it_.” Reyes growled. “Where is he now.” His voice broached no argument. 

Morrison nodded sharply. 

“I concur.” 

The Suit hid deeper behind his tie and collar. 

“He is with Medical right now, but I’ve been informed that he will be moved to an Apocalypse Class location as soon as he is travel-ready.” 

Blue eyes met rage-simmering brown. Red irises flashed before Jack looked away again. 

“Then he has been classified?” 76 raised an eyebrow. The businessman quivered. 

“Y-yes, it’s been discovered that while this is not the first time his powers have manifested it _is_ the most recent and…” 

Two commanders narrowed their eyes at the little man. 

“And he was holding back.” 

The Commanders paused and traded a calculating glance. 

“Are you saying this could have been _worse?_ ” A thick, brown eyebrow raised. 

The businessman raised his clipboard almost defensively. 

“Yes.” 

\-- 

It was strange to see their newest member all patched up. He carried himself like a king and walked with his head held high. White bandages peeked out from every piece of skin not covered by clothing. Gabriel inwardly hissed in sympathy pain. He’d been there. 

It was only years of military training and ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ that kept the old soldiers from staring at the raw, oozing flesh of the new mutant’s right arm. Looking at the man’s face, beneath the bandages, it would have been impossible to tell that the man was in pain and struggling to remain upright. 

Had the older mutants been able to share thoughts they would realize they shared an idea: “Gabe would love to play poker against this kid”. 

“John Morrison, Gabriel Reyes.” The new kid inclined his head in a polite bow. His hair had been trimmed recently, but the stress of his life had formed exhausted wrinkles on his noble brow and dark circles beneath his eyes. He even had the start of white hair at each of his temples. 

Gabe gave his friend the side-eye and caught a micro-smirk. New blood was their type. 

They would keep themselves in check though, their new member had had it rough enough without his safe haven getting ‘gayed up’ as Jack would say. Gabriel was bi anyway, but the new kid was probably a bit young for them. 

“Call sign Survivor, at your service.” Jack reached out a hand that was met with a firm handshake. Jack was grateful for his own poker face, but he could sprinkle in his winning smirk for good measure. 

The new man returned with a small smile but it quickly fell from his face. Survivor’s heart hurt to see it go. 

Gabriel returned the stranger’s nod. “Wraith designation, kid. You got a name?” 

The tired man nodded but slid his gaze to the handlers who had accompanied him. Assumedly since Hanamura, but that was his business not Jack and Gabe’s. 

One sunglass-adorned man nodded and looked back at his communicator watch. 

The woman in matching sunglasses raised an eyebrow. 

“Shimada Hanzo, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” 

Blue eyes moved to Gabe’s face where his surprise was plain as day. 

The Shimada scion, eh? It had been _years_ , possibly – no, _definitely_ \-- decades since he had seen hide or hair of the yakuza family. 

Hanzo knew the exact moment his name was recognized. The Wraith’s eyes took on a more calculating light, though not as unkindly as Hanzo had been preparing for. 

Then the taller man moved his football to rest on one hip and offered his free hand to Hanzo. It was the hand that wasn’t on his injured arm, and Hanzo knew this was intentional. 

As their hands met and they gauged one another’s polite grips, the ex-scion kept a smirk back. 

Oh, this would be fun. 

But first he just wanted a goddamn nap… and maybe a fistful of pain killers. 

Yeah. 

Yeah, the pain killers would be a good addition to his plans. 

Ignoring how stiff his left side was becoming, Hanzo ‘Dragonstrike’ Shimada followed the handful of Americans into the little brick house with a quaint screen door that clacked comfortingly behind them. 

“Welcome home, Shimada.” Gabe made a wide sweep of their living room and the peek of a kitchen. 

“Dragonstrike.” 

Both Apocalypse Class mutants turned at the gravelly proclamation. 

“Dragonstrike is my directive.” 

“Well, Dragon, welcome home.” 

He could get used to that. 

Both the nickname and…and having a home.


	4. Issue 3 - Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with the Americans is a lot different from life with the Shimada Clan... but Hanzo finds it in himself to enjoy it.

Daily routine –  
1\. Morning run while Hanzo sleeps in  
2\. Meditation while the Americans stretch and shower  
3\. Breakfast  
4\. Practice  
5\. Free time

There was much to get used to when living in the United States, Hanzo was finding. The customs, the time changes, the neighbors… 

Mostly the neighbors. 

Mostly the _housemates_. 

He was no stranger to waking early, in fact he’d preferred it growing up beneath the Clan’s tutelage. He was slowly coming to realize that, much like many of the other things about the Clan and his upbringing and the training therein… it was not entirely his choice. Waking up early, rigorous training before breakfast, barely enough food to get him through his lessons to keep his muscle lean instead of bulky. 

It wasn’t that he was letting himself go, per se. Hanzo was coming to discover what about the Clan’s trainings he could appropriate and what actually made him feel like _himself_. 

After all, he’d just blown the walls off the Clan’s underground spirit attachments and mutation running. Leave it to his family to figure out how to publicly use mutants and Gifted while disdaining them. Just enough disdain and disavowing that more conservative views with deep purses and blank checkbooks would feel safe sinking their filthy money into the Clan. 

All while the Family was manufacturing genes and moving them through the black market. 

Which black market? Shanghai, Deadlock Gorge, Rio de Janeiro, pick one and the vials probably had dragon kanji painted on them at one point or another. 

Hanzo shook his head and ran warm water over his coffee mug. 

That was another thing Hanzo was discovering about himself: He liked coffee. It had always been too high-octane and untraditional for his Clan-designated diet but he liked it. 

To be more specific, he liked it the way Gabriel ‘Wraith’ Reyes brewed it. 

‘Dark as ink with enough spice to wake you up.’ He’d growled – or chuckled into his mug. Early in the morning the two sounds were synonymous. 

Hanzo tried to watch the older man grind the beans and mentally take down how he did it, but the Hispanic man would angle his shoulders and block the machine from Hanzo’s eyes. 

Dark eyebrows rose in question, but a search of the taller man’s eyes revealed the warm mirth Reyes held inside. It was startling, to be joked with like this: openly and not without kindness. 

It almost sent the younger mutant scurrying back to his then-bare room chased by memories of another man who could joke with him. Genji. 

Genji was alive now. He was alive because of Hanzo. 

Hanzo had thrown the entirety of the Clan – of his _family_ under the international bus to save his little brother… 

And it had _worked_. 

Now in the mornings Hanzo would awaken to the smell of coffee and a slamming screen door. 

Rubber-soled sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor as the Americans returned from their run. 

Hanzo settled the warm mug into the metal sink and turned to watch the other two shoulder-check one another as they entered the house and the blond- Jack? Jack. Shook out his hair, his sweat making the downy hair stick at up odd angles. 

Reyes’ noogie didn’t help his friend’s hair conundrum. 

“Shimada-san! Ohaiyo!” Bright, blindingly blue eyes turned to Hanzo with warmth glowing like cozy embers from within. 

Hanzo was in trouble. 

The two older men continued bickering after Wraith nodded his greetings to their third member. Brown eyes flickered towards the empty coffee pot, his chest warming at the sight of the clean glass carafe. He knew what it felt like to be empty and how to make a home in another person. 

Not that they were like that. 

Not like they were quite friends either, but when he caught the corner of Dragonstrike’s lips twitch into a smile at his Jackie’s antics then he could hope. 

It had been a long, long time since he’d had hope for _anything_. 

Six years ago, in fact. When the Watch first fell. 

When Deadeye fell with it. 

Reyes’ chest still ached at the memory of his son passing before him. 

_Would Jesse have gray hair by now? Probably,_ Gabe decided. 

The ex-commanders chuckled and went their separate ways to use showers at the same time. 

They didn’t know how Hanzo would react if he knew they usually shared. 

…..Usually, but not always. Jack liked getting _some_ hot water. Fucking tropical fish of a husband. 

Common law, of course. Only Ana had really known, though there were plenty who suspected. 

Sofia, for one. She’d been all for it, Jack remembered, rubbing coconut body wash along his left forearm. 

Cheeky lesbian, every friendship needed at least one. 

When Sofia had met her now-wife Jack had been just as insufferably supportive. Gabe slightly more taciturnly, but not without the love and warmth they all knew he held for his little family. 

‘Waterfall Mist’ shampoo worked its way into his scalp with blunted fingernails. 

A wide shoulder thumped gracelessly against the chilled shower tile. 

_Had Dragonstrike had any stories like that?_ From the glimpses of the younger man’s unbandaged skin – scarred and scratched in decades of misuse - he could hazard a guess. 

It was not a very kind guess. 

Jack Morrison looked down at his arm. 

At least Hanzo’s arms had been healing. The younger man didn’t move with as much of a limp and he seemed to be sleeping better. 

Jack sighed. 

The younger man was still pale and jumpy, but that was practically to be expected with their lines of ‘work’. 

The tall blond huffed a mirthless laugh. 

_Two ex-super soldiers and an overpowered ex-yakuza boss._

What a mess they were. 

At least they were in it together? 

_What a silly notion._ He huffed again, but with some humor now. 

\- 

Gabe was making eggs when the other mutant surfaced from the steam formerly known as their guest bathroom. They popped and sizzled cheerily beneath his scarred hands. 

Morrison leaned against the counter and reached across the corded brown forearms to snatch a slice of toast as it leapt from the toaster. 

“Bastard.” Gabe chuckled. “Now back off, Cuervo.” 

Jack chuckled and danced away from the spatula shooing him away from the breakfast preparations. 

“You eatin’?” Gabe looked over his shoulder to ask Hanzo. 

Pale, gun-calloused fingers wiggled past where Gabe’s poor black shirt was struggling over his muscular bicep. 

Jack aimed to treat himself to that bacon. 

Gabe aimed to treat Jack’s hand to the back end of his spatula. 

Gabe’s aim struck true and Hanzo treated them both to a helpless chuckle at the blond’s expense. It was a small thing, gone just as soon as it started. 

Deep, brown eyes widened and met smirking blue ones. Survivor smiled and shook out his smarting hand, willing to make the small sacrifice that got one Hanzo Shimada to express something other than polite distance. 

_Yes, ‘polite distance’ was a facial expression._

_Just ask Ana._

\-- 

While the two super-soldiers bundled themselves into the workout room, Hanzo began his morning meditation. 

_‘Morning’, indeed._ It was nearly 0900 _and_ he’d already had breakfast. Unheard of in the life of a scion. 

In the life of 'Just Hanzo' though? Well, he could learn to live with it. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he ate with anyone other than Genji (event dinners and political lunches didn’t count. No one actually _wanted_ to be there unless they were ambitious to the point of danger. He – No, it was his family, come to think of it, his _family_ took great pleasure in cutting down such dangers before they are fully realized.) 

It was another practice he could get used to. 

Even if the Americans consumed more calories in one sitting than he had ever seen. 

It made sense though, for how active they kept themselves. 

…He didn’t let himself think too hard about that. 

A steady breath in… relax muscles… shake out shoulders. 

Close eyes. 

_Don’t fall asleep._

You know what? He _could_ go right back to sleep. He didn’t want to fall out of practice though, so he let himself drift in and out of awareness, running mental fingers along spirit scales and feeling the flow of energy like dipping into a summer-warmed stream. 

“Hey Dragon, you-“ Jack gripped his friend’s bicep and pulled him backwards out of the room when he saw how peaceful their new member looked. 

“We should probably leave him to it. That’s the most I’ve seen him relaxed since he got here.” Survivor intoned, keeping his voice quiet. 

“Before then, probably.” 

Jack nodded his agreement to Gabe’s addendum. 

“Wonder where he got that pillow though, the damn thing looked cozy.” 

Survivor smirked. 

Smugly. 

So smugly it brought Gabe’s attention before he even looked at him. 

“What?” 

“ _Cozy_ is one of my words, Gabriel.” 

Wraith let out a sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. 

“So is 'schlep' and I say that too, Jackie.” 

The other man, who was pushing 60, stuck out his tongue. 

His fellow veteran smirked and pinched it. 

“Ow- Asshole!” 

Wraith sniggered before Jack swatted him lightly. 

“Pier One.” 

Both men leapt at least 40 feet in the air. 

“What?” 

“Huh?” 

The ninja looked up at them, bleary from his dip into the subconscious. 

“The store I purchased the pillow from. Wraith mentioned his envy of it, though I was not listening close enough to reply at the time. My apologies.” 

With another ducked bow, Dragonstrike tucked said cushion beneath one arm and went back to bed. 

He would have excess energy later today he knew, but the _novelty_ of being able to _nap_ was completely new and positively sinful in retrospect. 

Shoulders cracking as he stretched, he let his dragons slip from his arm as his ribbon slipped from his hair. 

Sheets pulled back, still delightfully warm from being in direct sunlight, Hanzo slipped himself between them. He let himself sink into the mattress and ignored the thread-count on the blankets he cocooned around himself. 

Fujin and Raijin settled atop his side in their cat-sized forms, adding their psychic weight to his already losing battle with consciousness. 

It was unconventional, but then so was everything about his circumstances, from the company to the schedule to the neighbors. 

Though his American housemates had nothing on Fujin and Raijin in terms of strangeness, so perhaps this wouldn’t be all that bad. 

“We heard that, Young Master.” Raijin admonished fondly, knowing their Hanzo had already slipped into sleep.


End file.
